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The Story Of Waterfall There’s an old legend my mother used to tell me about how our city, the city of Waterfall, came to be. It was 1856, and the United States was in the midst of a great expansion of territory, thought, and domain. The thirst for exploration brewed strong in a fresh, new type of nomadic people that traveled ever westward in the great quest for a way to make a name for themselves in a world with no boundaries; the Manifest Destiny. But with great opportunity for good there always comes great opportunity for evil. Con men, taking advantage of the naivety of the young Americans, lured them into indebted servitude under the guise of cheap land and new horizons. One in particular, a wizened old man named Archebald Guthers, was especially ruthless. In the vast, dry prairieland of the western plain was an isolated oasis, the vibrant surroundings of a ground spring, and here Guthers founded the Waterfall Oil Field. Oil drills began to replace the lush green vegetation of the little spring, and its clear air began to become thick and grey with waste. Despite his efforts however, Guthers had little luck obtaining enough oil to sustain his small manufactory. Desperate, Guthers himself trekked down the stream, following it into the ground in rampant search for the black gold he so craved. The mouth of the stream led into a large cave, where the water funneled down and roared into a huge, foaming waterfall that seemed to cascade endlessly into the depths of the earth. Guthers clambered over the slippery rocks onto a small alcove down below where the water from the spray of the waterfall trickled slowly to collect in a crystal clear pool in a center depression in the ground. Exhausted, soaking wet, and scraped up by the sharp rock fragments, Guthers collapsed beside the pool, believing once and for all that his hopes of great fame and fortune would forever elude him. However, just before he was about to close his eyes, the water began to ripple, glowing milky white. Alarmed, Guthers leapt backwards, cowering against the cave wall. As the cloudy sheen faded and the water rocked to a standstill, the face of a beautiful woman appeared in the glassy smooth surface of the pool. “Who…are you?” Guthers managed to choke out, squinting at the reflection. “I am the spirit of this oasis.” She said, her melodic voice gentle but her silver irises cold and hard as steel. “I am-” Guthers began, but the spirit cut him off. “I know who you are. You are the one who is destroying my home. But why, mortal? Why do you do this?” “For oil.” The old man blurted out incredulously, regretting his words as the woman’s piercing silver eyes narrowed. “You mean the foul black substance you draw from the earth? Why do you so desire it?” “It’s simple. It’s for the money.” Guthers said, and seeing that the spirit didn’t seem to comprehend, he explained, “I wish be to rich, famous, and powerful. The most powerful man in all of the Midwest. And the only way I can get that kind of money and power is by drilling for oil.” After a moment’s pause, the spirit spoke, hesitant. “If I gave you a way to gain all you desire… would you leave my spring alone?” Guthers perked, a charming con man’s smile making its way across his face. “Well of course, m’am.” He drawled smoothly, and the weary spirit sighed, seeming satisfied though there was still mistrust in her eyes. “Place your hand in the water.” She commanded, and Guthers obliged. Just as his wrist was submerged beneath the surface, he felt a tug, and as he withdrew his hand he found a little red thread tied around his index finger, its length trailing into the water. “That is the string of fate.” The spirit intoned solemnly, her unblinking gaze never leaving the shifty man for a moment. “Those who draw it will find that they can achieve whatever they desire. However, be warned; fate does not relinquish its powers so readily. There will always be a price.” With that, the woman vanished. Guthers left the alcove, climbing up the rocks with ease. Everywhere Guthers went fortune seemed to smile upon him, and, enthralled with his power, he ensnared the town in has magic red thread like a giant spider web. Soon enough Guthers was the richest man in all the Midwest, but as his fortune grew, so did his greed. Ignoring the deal he made with the spirit, he planned to overhaul the spring and build a huge oil manufactory that would rival those of the largest oil drilling towns in the world. However, Guthers’ good fortune had run out. Oblivious in his hunger, he had slowly begun to tangle himself in the thread over time, and eventually he was so very entangled in his good fate he couldn’t even move. With his fall, the oil wells dried up, the repressed servants took control, and the town began to thrive as a small farming community. Even though Guthers the tyrant is no more, some say to that to this very day the little red thread of fate is still crisscrossed like veins beneath the thriving city, and that things around here have a funny way of always working out. This is, however, simply a legend. Category:Browse